William Stone - How We Survive - EMP Survival in a Powerless World

The gang shouted their approval.

Nathan said, “Great, now is the time we strike!”

“Let’s kill ‘em!” somebody yelled from the crowd.

“No, no, no,” the leader said, a grin spreading across his face. “What we’ve got prepared for them is worse than death.”

HATFIELD LEANED AGAINST THE WINDOW, face pressed to it. The landscape seemed more dangerous than it ever had before. There was a menace out there that could wipe the compound out, and what happened to Jespersen was just one example of it.

“You sure you okay, honey?” Jess asked.

“It’ll take a while to get back to okay,” he said, his voice hollow. He turned to face his wife, watched her pull the captain’s bandage open and take a peek at his wound.

She grimaced and squinted her eyes. Not a good sign.

“Cecil doing okay?” Her husband asked.

“Well… he’s still got a pulse. That’s the best we can hope for under these conditions. But the bad news is my hunch may have been right.”

“Your hunch about what?”

“Germs. Infections. That would explain why he’s not recovering so well.”

Hatfield leaned closer, took a glance at the dull shine in Cecil’s eyes.

Jess added, “That Vicodin should be wearing off pretty soon. That means if we’re going to operate, we’ll have to do it within minutes.”

“Operate? You sure you can handle that?”

“No, I’m not sure. But unless somebody’s hiding a doctor somewhere here in the homestead, I’m the closest one to a qualified person to operate.”

The moment filled Hatfield with sadness. He stretched his hand to the captain’s face, but before it got there, Jess said, “Germs, honey! Germs!”

“Sorry,” he said, yanking his hand back.

“Wait, hold on a second,” she said. “Let me see your hand.”

He reached out, held it before her eyes palm up. “What’s wrong?”

“How long has it had that purple-ish color?”

“Just a few hours. Why?”

She gave him soft eyes. “Honey, we might have to amputate.”

“Amputate my hand!”

“Let me deal with Cecil first,” she said. “I’m going to try to remove the bullet, see if that stops the infection. In the meantime, you need to wait in another room.”

“Got it.” He watched his wife get to work, feeling an odd kind of envy for her.

The compound needed her. The homesteaders would never be able to function or even survive without a nurse—in this case serving as an emergency doctor. But Hatfield—especially with one hand—wasn’t.

Sitting alone in the den and scanning across the pictures of his dad, Hatfield tried to blot out the last day. It was a series of nightmares, nothing less than that. Multiple homesteaders lost—possibly including Cecil—and attacks coming from a gang that outnumbered them.

On top of that, he faced the real likelihood of losing his shooting hand.

Cecil paid him the big compliment of saying his father would have been proud of the man he’d became when the homestead came under siege. But things were different now. He’d be tested again and again and again. He stared at the images blankly, not knowing how to react.

Gazing into the eyes of his father’s face and imagining his demanding baritone yelling out orders, he wondered what his dad would think of him now.

“A leader doesn’t expect his men to do anything he won’t do—or can’t—do.”

He repeated the words over and over again as if engaging in a kind of self-torture, reminding himself that he was no longer a leader now and not just because of his shortcomings as a shooter. It was everything. The new circumstances. The dangers they now faced. His doubts, the uncertainty of his role. Everything.

Flooded by mixed emotions, he returned the pile of pictures to the box. Right now, his father’s unyielding voice—imaginary or not—wasn’t what he needed. He’d had enough of that as a teenager.

He turned and saw the door of the den open slowly with a creak. His daughter—dour-faced and sheepish—poked her head through. “Dad, Mom wants to see you in the dorm room.”

“Sure, honey.”

Hatfield stepped down the hallway, bracing for bad news about Cecil. Jess slipped out of the dorm room and dropped her scarf. “Well, I did the best I could.” She pulled a tiny bullet from her pocket, face glowing with a weak smile.

“Honey, you’re amazing! That’s great news.” But he noticed the smile fade. “Isn’t it?”

“Getting the bullet out is a good start, but it’s no guarantee I stopped the infection.”

“Anything else we can do for him?”

She smirked. “You’re talking to a pastor’s daughter. So you know the answer.”

“Prayer, prayer, and more prayer.”

She shrugged. “Nothing else left.”

“Long as he still has a chance. Can I talk to him?”

“Sure.” She reached for her husband’s hand, carefully pulling it to her face. “This is more what I’m worried about. Come on in, and let’s see what we can do.”

A grin immediately spread across Hatfield’s face when he saw Cecil sprawled across his mattress, sporting the leisurely demeanor of someone who’d just had a tooth pulled. “Well, look who’s still going strong! Glad to have you still around, Captain.”

“Come on now. You should have known it would take more than a bullet to bring down this old bull.” With his big body shaking into a chuckle, he started to reach up for a handshake.

But Jess stopped them. “Germs, guys. We have to be careful in here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cecil said. “I trust there is no danger of the exchange of germs when I tell your husband how proud I am of the way he conducted himself”

“We’re all proud of him,” Jess said. She pulled down her mask just long enough to dampen his cheek with a kiss.

He turned and gave her a sly grin. “Not worried about germs?”

“I outrank you.” She gave him a pat on the butt, then said. “Now, let’s get you on that mattress and give me five minutes to get everything sterilized—or at least the best we can do under the circumstances.”

As her husband lowered himself to the bed next to Cecil’s, the captain propped himself up to the elbows and addressed him. “You know, Trevor, your father used to say, give me ten men with steady hands on their guns and we’ll take down an army.”

Hatfield glanced over, the smile fading from his face as he looked at the graying fingertips on his shooting hand.

Cecil went on. “And although I didn’t witness it with my very eyes, from what I heard, you have a steady gun hand.”

“Thank you.” Hatfield chose not to share his anxiety about his shooting hand. With any luck, he’d heal before it would become an issue. “So… Cecil, there’s something I’m wondering about.”

“What’s that?”

“One of the guys holding my kids the other day on the porch said something about the three homesteaders who left.”

“What about them?”

“He said they’d joined up with this gang. And they’re now able to give them inside information about us. How we operate and all that. In fact, that might have been the reason for the sneak attack at the hospital. Also, that might have been the way they knew the guy on guard duty would be there—”

Cecil stopped him with a calmly-lifted hand. “You let me handle all that.”

“Well, what I’m saying is, we might want to change things up a little. You know, to make sure they don’t know—”

The captain shook his head. “I know we’ve sustained big casualties, but as long as we have enough to hold things down, we should be fine.”

“But we don’t actually know how many of them—”